Brazen horns protest each others presence
Steam rises from beneath the tarnished streets
Taxi’s tease with flags that say “off duty”
And in the shadows, grifters ply their trade
A cacophony of smells assault the senses
Windows dressed, compete to catch the eye
Breezes brush against you with a stale breath
Ribbons of cracked sidewalks meet your tread
Isolation in a sea of people
Buildings clinging tightly side by side
Sirens scream the news of unknown victims
The city owns your soul, it lives inside
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About oldmainer
I am a retired manager living in Southern Maine and a would be writer of poetry, narratives, short stories, and random opinions, and that's how Oldmainer was born. Recently, I decided to try an experiment. I added photography to the mix, using only a cheap cell phone with a limited camera and the editing software that came with it, and added the blog site Inklings at poormanspoet.wordpress.com to showcase the results. So, feel free to use whatever you find interesting or worthy, but please honor the terms of my copyright when and if you do. They may not be much, but they are still a piece of me. I appreciate your checking me out and hope that you find something that will encourage a return visit. Thanks for stopping by.
Ink lings 
every city dweller will identify with that powerful last line. Another brilliant poem.
Love, Mehak
Brilliant huh. Wow. Never been told that before. Many thanks
Reblogged this on oldmainer.
So funny how the city is so completely opposite of what you have described, to me. It’s strong, vibrant and beautiful. I welcome every sound and sweet breath it has to offer. I’m one of it’s kids. I grew up in Her arms, swimming pools, beaches, lake, streets. The skyscrapers are my friends, as are the gardens and parks. The noise is music to my ears. The yellow flash of a cab, a moving flower. The sidewalks, cracked or smooth are like a red carpet walk to a gala event called Chicago. Everything about the city lives inside me. It feeds my soul and makes life sing. I love her with a passion and never tire of listening to her heartbeat.
Beautifully said. You described the city as you would a lover. Very intimate.
The city is living poetry.